Letting You Go
by dwgleek98
Summary: After Carson's death, Malerie is having trouble letting go. Warnings: tiny bit of language, cannon character death, and spoilers


**Warning: tiny bit of language, spoilers, and cannon character death**

I walked down the hallways of Clover High School, looking as I normally did: slightly confused and holding a cam corder. I walk in my usual daze but not for the same reasons. I'm walking in a strange whirlwind of sadness and confusion. Not my normal confusion though, a different kind. I don't like this kind.

I pass the writer's club room and paused in front of the door. I hadn't been inside since I heard that was Carson gone. I don't even think the janitors clean it anymore. I don't know why but I slowly opened the door and made my way inside.

I could just see it: Carson looking up from his computer hopefully, maybe thinking I was there to join the writer's club and would look a little disappointed to see it was just me, little old Malerie.

I could smell the fresh ink of whatever Carson was printing, maybe new copies of the latest issue of the Chronicle or new fliers to replace the ones hung around school that where covered in insults and profanities. I would ask:

"What are we doing today Carson?"

And he would answer by shrugging and saying: "Same as everyday I guess Mal."

Well, I'll be honest, he never really called me Mal. I just always wished he would sometimes cause, you know, Carson said that we're best friends. I walk over to his desk and run a hand over it. I lift it away quickly because I hate the feeling of dust. I was right, the janitors didn't bother to clean this place anymore. I shoved down my disgust and started wiping all the dust from the desk.

When the whole room actually looked like another living person had been there in the past month, I sat down at one of the tables and propped my camera up on a couple of dictionaries. I looked around the room and felt for just a second that maybe nothing had changed.

But everything had changed. Carson died about a month ago. I kept trying to tell myself that he wasn't dead. He was just gone. He would be back soon and I would show him my newest book which had been stolen from me by some big-name author. He would pretend to believe that I really wrote The Hunger Games. We would print new fliers to replace the ones that had been defaced during the day and I would talk about how we could take over the world using blackmail if we wanted to.

It doesn't matter because I know he's dead. I miss him so much. I went to the funeral, I watched all those liars walk up and say how Carson and them were best friends (How dare they steal that title from me?) and how much they would miss him and all that crap. I tried to just sit and listen and not get too upset from all the bullshit that was spewing out of those peoples mouths, but I couldn't take it anymore. So I did exactly what I thought Carson would do in that situation: tell all those hypocrites who Carson Phillips really was.

_ I marched up to the podium that Remy had just stepped down from, wiping what I am convinced were fake tears from her face. I am proud of what I was about to say for Carson. I'm sure he's smiling down on me from heaven...or up at me from hell. He always joked that he didn't know where he was going to end up._

_ I tapped a finger on the microphone, just to be sure it was on so everyone could hear what I was about to say. I cleared my throat and said I in my loudest, clearest speaking voice._

_ "I hate all of you."_

_ Silence. My mom was waving at my and motioning to get away from that podium or I was grounded for the rest of my life but I didn't give a shit. I needed to say this. The newspaper reporters in the back were scrambling to get their little tape recorders and catch every word of what I said._

_ "You're all liars, saying that you care about Carson! None of you cared. You all hated him. Sure he could be annoyingly smart and make you feel like you weren't worth his time of day but you people started hurting him and making him feel like crap before he even started being the sarcastic, witty, mean person that all of you hated."_

_ I rubbed my eyes subtly, trying to wipe away my tears. Being here at his funeral, talking about what had happened, it just made everything so real. I've always tried my hardest to escape from pain and suffering. That was why I recorded things, so that I could relive every happy moment and skip the bad parts. Speaking of which, where was my camera? Was someone recording this? This could be the single most important thing I've ever had to do in my life and I couldn't re-watch later and reflect on my victory? That's outrageous! Oh well, you can't catch all the special parts of life. That's what was special about them, they only happened once._

_ "I don't know why you all hated him so much. Was it because he really wanted to go places someday? Or because he wasn't content to just sit back and become like you people? To become like me? Like everyone else in this God damned town? Well I would tell you people to get over it, to let the poor guy be himself but I didn't have the courage to do something like this until it was too late. Carson is dead. I hope you all are happy."_

_ With that, I step down from the podium and walk out of the chapel quickly, my head held high. Unfortunately, my pride didn't last very long because dd I was outside of the chapel, I allowed myself to break down in tears._

I rubbed my watering eyes. Must be all the dust in the classroom, it's making my allergies act up. I walked over to the board and read the familiar words: _Carson Phillips, Writer's Club President._ He spent his life in this club, in this room. I could still feel his presence here.

I don't know what came over me, but I just couldn't stand to anymore. I reached over to grab an eraser and wiped away the words on the board. I instantly regretted it. One of the last parts of Carson, gone. Erased by me. I threw the eraser down. I hated this feeling of hopelessness and confusion and anger. I wanted it all to stop. I wanted Carson back, I never was able to pay him back for everything. I wanted to scream because _he wasn't coming back _and I would never give him back what I owe him. I wanted to make these feelings stop, tell someone, _anyone_, about them. I needed to-

I stopped, frozen perfectly in place. I knew what to do.

"I have something to write about Carson," I whispered.

I scrambled over to the table where my camera was. "I guess I'll start by just by recording everything," I started. "I'll pretend you can hear me, Carson. I know I always kind of annoyed you since I joined writer's club despite not being able to write anything."

I laughed a little at that. Now he would know why.

"The reason I joined the club was because a few years ago, I was getting picked on by some stupid cheerleaders, I don't know if you remember. They were calling me mean names and everyone else was either ignoring it or encouraging them. You saw too, Carson, except for you didn't just walk by like everyone else, you stopped and told them to knock it off. Then you took my hand and dragged me away. You asked if I was okay and, when I said that I was, you walked away. I remember thinking that I was never really going to talk to you again and it didn't matter. That was until those cheerleaders got some jocks to fill your gym locker with trash and stole your gym clothes so you had to wear really embarrassing clothes from the lost and found. Ever since then I've kind of felt like I owe you. So when you passed out fliers saying that you needed people to join the writer's club, I thought it would be a good idea, even if I couldn't write to save my life. I thought I could keep you company. I thought it might be enough. You let me stay. I always wanted to understand you, to really know you. I pretended to write all those books because than I would be at least trying. I wasn't lying about wanting to be able to write. I actually wanted to learn. Despite you obviously seeing through my lie about writing books, you still allowed me to be part of the club. I knew that could kick people out if you wanted to, but for some reason, you never did that to me. Now, you're gone Carson, and I'll never be able to pay you back. I don't think I've ever been this sad. I still record things on my camera. I told you once that I record everything so that I can fast forward through the sad times and re-watch the happy ones. I think I'll have to fast forward a lot during this time."

I stopped talking and flipped the screen closed. I wiped the tears from my eyes, I told myself not to cry but the tears didn't stop. After I'd composed myself, I got up and left, leaving my camera behind. I walked down the hallways feeling empty from my lack of camera which had always felt like an extra limb. People were staring at me without my camera but I didn't care. You can't look at life through the lens of a camera, it does things to you.

**Peace, Love, Chris Colfer**

**Julez**


End file.
